


Harvest

by Schadenfiend



Category: Original Work, Vaya - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, One Shot, Original Character(s), Other, Reader-Insert, Smut, Teratophilia, Vaya - Freeform, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 09:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schadenfiend/pseuds/Schadenfiend
Summary: After narrowly shaving death, you come back to the river each year to meet with Lox, your mute savior. This year, you get more than you expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is unrelated to any fandom, I feel compelled to throw in a bit of background information. 
> 
> Lox is an original character. He is a bird-like monster, most notable for the wings on their head, belonging to a species known as pteriatrice in the fictional world of Vaya. He is selectively mute in almost all situations and has a very weak and unused voice, so he communicates primarily through a universal sign language. His brother, Cloz, is also mentioned. This two part reader insert is non-canon, but who doesn’t like self-indulging smut.
> 
>  
> 
> **You can see how he looks here:[x](https://78.media.tumblr.com/e135285e7bba12c739e146e15500b8b8/tumblr_pbqwqcixK81wejb4bo2_1280.png), [x](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2935d98b659980e728291aaac0aa9348/tumblr_p36ok74xdR1wejb4bo1_1280.png)**
> 
>  
> 
> Now onto the story!

 

 

 

His warm breath met the crisp, fall air as a puff of condensation. Lox watches the riverside, hidden away in the thick coverage of boreal foliage, and he shivers.

 

The chill of the wind bid his pilomotor muscles taut, puffing his feathers outward for insulation, trapping more air between each quill, and Lox pulled his head-wings closer around his body for warmth. The clouds darkening overhead, threatening to rain, sent worry bubbling through his gut. Lox has never been an enthusiast for the colder climate, especially during this time of year and so far north from his home, far removed from his usual hunting grounds -- and despite this, he still returns to the foot of the river every year.

 

The start of every fall brought the salmon back upstream, jumping against the rapid current at their feeble chance of mating, and  _ you _ always came back with it.

 

He remembers his first encounter with you, years ago when you first came. You were wide-eyed with wonder at your first salmon run. He admires the way you carried yourself with such spirit, inching forward with your camera, hoping to immortalize each moment -- but that same spirit brought you too close to the edge where you slipped on the rocks and were swept away with the current. He couldn’t just watch you tumble to your death, so against the proverbs of his elders to stay hidden, he surged forward and pulled you from the waters, pushing against your chest until you were able to cough the river from your waterlogged lungs.

 

“Who… who are you?” you wheezed between each wet expectoration.

 

(L.)

 

(O.)

 

(X.)

 

That was all he managed to sign with his trembling hands before he flew away, completely forgetting his salmon harvest that year.

  
  
  


The following year was different. 

 

Cloz was still so young back then, and still so dependent on Lox for parental guidance. He wouldn't stop crying when Lox tried to leave home, and it was only with the promises of delicious fish when Cloz caved in, allowing his older brother to go. 

 

So when he finally returned to the foot of the river, the run was almost finished, with only the weakest and smallest salmon still struggling against the current with no chance of scaling the hydraulic jumps. Instead, he found you again, waiting on the rocky shore with a bucket full of your best catches, waiting for him with a smile on your rosy cheeks.

 

From then on, it became a tradition. Year after year, you’d both return to that river, enjoying each other’s company for a few days until you both had your fill with as much fish as you could carry home.

 

But you were late this time. 

 

Lox can’t help but wonder if he’d finally been stood up after having camped at this site for three days straight with no sign of you. He shakes his head, remembering the events that transpired the previous year, and sighs. 

 

_ Maybe this was a mistake... _

 

He stretches his head-wings in silent preparation for the disappointing flight home, when finally, he spots the unnatural flickering lights of your van on the path headed toward the river, crushing leaves and snapping twigs in your wake. The rumble of the engine finally stops, and Lox surges from the tree branch, almost tripping when he lands beside you stepping out of your car door.

 

“Lox! Oh my goodness, I’m so, so sorry for being so late!”

 

(It’s okay,) he signs frantically.

 

“I just, this damn car -- it just had to break on me. Was so reliable until a few days ago, right before I was about to drive out here and - god, it took forever just to get this whole disaster sorted and have the engine up and running again, and --”

 

(It’s okay,) he signs again, amused at your distress.

 

“No, it’s not okay! I really didn’t mean to be so late. Actually, did you have to wait long for me?”

 

(No,) he lies. (I just got here.)

 

“Well, thank god for that,” you huff. “Seems like the run is half over though, huh? It’s a shame, both of us travelling such a great distance to get here, with so little to bring back home despite our misplaced efforts.”

 

(I can’t say it’s the same for me,) Lox signs with an inaudible chuckle, gesturing toward his own three buckets on the shoreline.

 

“Oh  _ fuck me. _ You’ve been waiting for me all day, haven’t you?”

 

Lox raised his hand to sign  _ yes _ as the first drop of rain fell, bypassing the feathers of his crest and splattering onto his scalp. You mirror his gesture and turn your head upward, only to be met with another fat droplet of rain to your forehead.

 

Lightning cracks through the sky and the rain begins to pour.

 

“ _ Oh no! _ ”

 

You rush back into the van, slamming the door with desperation. It takes you a moment to realize your companion didn’t follow suit, so you lean over to push open the passenger door.

 

“What are you doing, standing in the rain like that? Get in the van, you bird-brain!”

 

And despite his hesitation, Lox finds himself scrambling inside to escape the cold. 

 

He crouches awkwardly, unsure of where to position his limbs in the cramped confines of the metallic, boxy vehicle. Lox takes a moment to observe his environment, breathing in the scent of dusty, old carseats, the sight of the sun-bleached dashboard, and bits and pieces of your life scattered throughout the wide space behind the front seats. When he finally notices you staring at him with a curious grin, he pales.

 

“Lox.  _ Loxy _ . You utterly, precious being. I’ve never seen anyone sit so uncomfortably before. You’ve never been in a car ‘til now, have you?”

 

(… No,) he replies abashedly, and you burst with laughter.

 

“Look, um, you can try putting your legs… yeah stick ‘em into this empty space right here like what I’ve done, yeah? That’s probably a bit more comfy.”

 

He nods and follows your directions, relieved and feeling less cramped with his legs oriented more comfortably, without his talons puncturing holes into the old seat. You two sit in a comfortable silence, listening to the strong wind and rain pelt against the windshield.

 

“I’m… guessing Cloz isn’t with you again. He’s not mad at me, is he?” you ask, hoping you’re not too obvious with your disappointment.

 

(No, of course not!)

 

“Then why didn’t he come this year?”

 

Lox pauses for a moment.

 

(He was too ashamed to be carried,) he finally signs.

 

You click your tongue, chagrined. 

 

“You know, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being unable to fly,” you state plainly.

 

(I know.)

 

“It’s not like he asked to be born that way, right?”

 

(I know.)

 

“His disabilities don’t define him! Cloz will always be Cloz. He’s a wonderful kid as he is.”

 

( _ I know. _ )

 

You reel, caught off-guard by firmness of his gestures. 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I know I’m literally preaching to the choir here.”

 

(It’s okay,) Lox signs, slowly relaxing again into the plush seating. He really did appreciate your concern.

 

“But… you know… I actually wouldn’t mind bringing Cloz back to my town one day. With you there as well, of course! I know you pteriatrice are all about wings and talons and whatnot. And, while I get how important it is to your culture and survival, being unable to fly...  isn’t the end of the world? Us folks get on just fine with our two legs, and maybe I could teach him how we survive in our own way, with agriculture and machinery.”

 

Lox paused.

 

(... Really?)

 

“Yes, really! Hell, he could stay with me for some time and pick up some tools of the trade if he’s interested. I could even teach him to drive, if he wanted! You know I’d take care of him well. I love him like my own, already.”

 

You pause, swallowing your pride.

 

“... Just as I love you.”

 

Lox stills, staring back into your vibrant, lovely eyes, acutely aware of pounding organ in his chest. 

 

Trying desperately to suppress the burgeoning feelings of warmth he’s been ignoring all year. Trying desperately to forget the memory of you, last year, leaning forth with your lips in a soft pucker, and the feeling of that gentle, platonic kiss you placed on his cheek.

 

_ And failing. _

 

It was you who finally broke contact when the flush on your cheeks became too overpowering, mistaking his lack of response for rejection.

 

“U-uh, speaking of which… I actually have something for you and the kiddo.”

 

Lox watched as you ease yourself out of your seat and into the wide storage of the van, sifting through boxes and old equipment until you found what you were looking for. You finally pull out a flimsy, rectangular item, and Lox accepts it gingerly from your outstretched hand:

 

It was a picture book. A picture book on  _ birds. _

 

You rub your neck anxiously.

 

“Yeah, so a few of us went raiding the ruins on the outskirts of town and we found this old plant-covered primary school. Windows were broken, ivy almost covering the whole building, that sort of thing. It was a complete  _ mess. _ I don’t even know how I managed to find this book since everything was covered in either algae or mildew. I literally had to throw away some of the pages because it was so damaged, but after drying it in the sun and pressing the pages and cutting off all the torn corners, I think it finally turned out okay! I really hope you like this, because -- Lox? Are you alright?”

 

Lox feels like his chest is about to burst. When did his eyes get so watery?

 

“... thank you,” he whispers.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut!
> 
> Also, how does this even have views and kudos? It literally isn't part of any fandom so I'm really not sure how anyone found this fic haha. All I can say is... hello, terato community.

It’s too heavy.

 

He struggles. It squeezes the air from his lungs as his chest heaves in resistance. It's the grip of a vice he can’t see. Feeling the weight of a burden he can’t perceive. Being crushed beneath the forlorn waves of years he can’t understand.

 

It’s too much.

 

Somewhere, in the distance, a pair of glasses breaks. 

 

Somewhere, in the distance, the petals of a flower brown to lifeless crisps. The edges of a knitted scarf fray, unraveling each row one loop at a time, until its original form is indistinguishable. Memories of shouting echo in the darkness, ghosts calling from the void.

 

“.... Lox…”

 

Lox feels a single, stray tear roll from his closed eyes, hot and wet against his cheek. But despite his wishes, his eyes remain shut, even as the pounding in his chest becomes almost unbearable.

 

“... Lox… ”

 

The squeezing gets tighter and tighter, crushing, tearing; it’s as futile as breathing under water --

 

“... Lox!”

 

“... S-sorry I’m sorry I-I’m sorry --,” he mouths soundlessly, frantic and signing a flurry of disorganized gestures.

 

His eyelids finally fly open to find that he’s still in the passenger seat of your van with your face looking back at his, lined by the dim light of the moon and the aged interior lighting. Despite it all, tears still stream beneath his eyes. It takes him a moment to finally register your hand on his cheek, softly stroking the neat feathers on his face, brushing away the wetness with your thumb. 

 

“... Lox. It’s me,” you repeat more gently this time, still stroking his cheek without missing a beat. “It was just a dream.”

 

He begins raising his hands to sign again, only to find his talons tangled with a shredded blanket. You watch as his eyes widen in realization and stop his hands.You sense his horror.

 

“It’s okay! I can get a new one! It was getting old and worn out anyway.”

 

He looks at you, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. A moment passes before you realize how close the two of you are. You quickly pull your hands away from his.

 

“You, uh, fell asleep when we were reading that bird book together. Actually I didn’t even realize you nodded off until you started twitching next to me! It was really cute. You must have been really tired from waiting for me to show up.”

 

(... Yes,) he gestures after a moment.

 

“You started shivering in your sleep so I put a blanket on you. I guess you're not used to using blankets from where you're from, huh?”

 

(No… it’s much warmer at back at home. The feathers help too.)

 

“I see.”

 

A pause as you wait for your companion to recompose. 

 

“Do you… wanna talk about it?”

 

Lox stares listlessly at the ripped blanket in his lap. (No,) he signs after a moment.

 

A smile pricks at the edge of your lips as an idea springs to your mind, hoping to distract him. “Do you want to try some classic human camping food instead?”

 

Lox cocks his head to the side and hesitates. (... Okay?)

 

An energetic kick to your step almost sends you tumbling as you scramble into the storage area of your van. Despite the wares strewn haphazardly in the back, you’re able to find your half-eaten bag of marshmallows, a bar of chocolate, and a box of crumbly graham crackers. Not the most elegant of snacks, but elegance is uncalled for at a time like this. You push open the back door of your van and wave for Lox to follow you into the cold.

 

By now, the rain has stopped. The air presses heavily against you with humidity and the smell of petrichor. The ground remains wet, but you have a sharp knife and enough dry wood stored in your trunk to make a fire and keep it going for at least an hour.

 

“Do you know how to start a fire?”

 

(Yes,) Lox gestures. 

 

Together, you and Lox position enough sticks in a lattice to elevate your fire off the wet ground. You gently scrape away at the dry wood until you have enough curly shavings to start the fire, while Lox strategically arranges the kindling. You strike a match. In minutes, a small fire is blossoming next to your van.

 

“We did it!”

 

Lox nods while adding more kindling, with only a glimmer in his eyes to show his full excitement. You both watch the fire grow, satisfied as heat licks your cold skin. From the corner of your eye you see Lox eyeing you quietly, noting your shivers as you pressed your hands towards the flame at a distance, as if there were an invisible barrier. The fire suddenly cracks, spitting a fleck of wood at you. You jump away and find yourself crashing into him.

 

“Ack! Sorry!” 

 

_ Idiot. _

 

You quickly shy away in embarrassment. While you’re aware of you own comfort with Lox, you aren’t nearly as sure how comfortable he is with you. In all the years you’ve known him, he has never once touched you outside of necessity. You turn back toward the fire to skewer a marshmallow onto a clean stick, hoping the warmth from the flame is enough to mask the redness on your face.

 

“This is called a s’more,” you start, purposely avoiding eye contact. “It’s a classic campfire snack. You start by roasting this poof called a marshmallow over an open flame like this.” You work diligently, rolling the confection with pristine control to carefully roast it without burning. “When it gets nice and golden-brown like this, that's when you know it’s gonna be delicious. Then, you smoosh it between two graham crackers and some chocolate like so, and -- ta-da!”

 

Turning back, you present the finished s’more to Lox, who stares at you in wonder. “Take it, will you? Give it a shot!”

 

Lox hesitates, but holds out his hand to accept the gooey snack. He watches in fascination as the chocolate and marshmallow began to spill over into his palm. Lox tries to take a bite, only to have his sharp beak splinter the cookies into crumbs that spill all over him.

 

“Oooh my god!” You laugh. You quickly grab an old towel and a water bottle from your van. “I’m so sorry! I should have warned you. Here, you can clean up with this!” 

 

Lox graciously accepts the water and towel and gently begins working the melted marshmallow out of his feathers.

 

And you want, so badly, to reach out and help him clean the crumbs out of his feathers, but that fear of unwanted contact keeps you at bay. He’s finished before you could offer to help.

 

He chuckles silently. (For what it’s worth, the piece I ate was pretty good.)

 

You’re relieved.

 

You and Lox spend the rest of the night talking and laughing, while roasting more marshmallows until you both feel sick and bloated.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The dawn chorus of songbirds tell Lox it’s a new day. 

 

But the light that normally dances along his eyelids are different today. The morning brought a chill that made you cower uncomfortably on the thin mattress on the floor of your van. With sleepiness still fogging your mind, you snuggle closer toward a luxurious source of warmth and softness, pulling a blanket over your shivering body.

 

Only it wasn’t a blanket, and that mysterious source of heat came from none other than Lox. You’ve used his outstretched arm as a pillow and one of his wings draped over both your bodies for warmth. Although you didn’t ask for this, it’s almost instinctual, like those many nights when Lox held Cloz in his arms, shivering during those hard years. So when he felt you quaking next to him, curling his body closer to yours was reactionary.

 

“Lox..?” you whisper. The nictitating membranes sweep across his sleep-glazed eyes as they open to the sound of your voice. His pupils shift to see you, red faced and embarrassed, laying next to him.

 

“Um, good morning,” you sputter.

 

Lox simply stares back with his eyes wide open with surprise. 

 

He can’t respond even if he wanted to, as his arms are currently occupied as your headrest. And  _ god knows _ he doesn’t want to respond anyway if it means pushing you away. But the redness on your cheeks only bled more and more apparent as you silently stare at Lox, never pushing  _ him  _ away. 

 

And if you weren’t going to do that, then...

 

For just a moment, the doubts that keep ricocheting in Lox’s head are ignored. Instead, he closes the distance between him and yourself, pulling you flush against his body, turning onto his back to lift your small frame on top of his. He squeezes his eyes shut and worries with how you might react, but an even greater satisfaction overpowers him with having your body at this new proximity. You hesitate at first, but then he feels your fingers pressing into him, snaking through the soft plumage on his chest, until he feels your hands clasp behind his neck.

 

You sigh, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “Lox, I-I...”

 

He knows he’s not the best at reading human behaviour, but when he opens his eyes just in time to see you lean forth and plant your lips gently against his beak, it’s clear as day. What he has always felt between you and him is unmistakable, and his head spins with elation. He opens his beak to respond and you instantly accept his invitation, fervently gliding your wet tongue along his, relishing in his taste.

 

When you break away, a breathless whine squeezes from his throat. Arousal courses through him from seeing you at this angle, so close and personal. Likewise, you savor this moment for as long as you can. It’s a rarity for you to see such a strong creature pinned beneath a tiny human like yourself, with his headwings spread in the cramped space of the van floor, and his large eyes looking back at you, lidded with lust and affection. 

 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

 

(You are too,) he signs, feeling warmth swell in his chest. Carefully, he reaches to touch your face, doing his best to avoid hurting you with his talons. You smile and plant a gentle kiss before resting your cheek in his strong palms, melting with affection. It’s a different comfort being with him here, and you’re ready to move forward to make your intentions known. 

 

“I want you, Lox. I’ve wanted you for such a long time.”

 

(Yes, me too,) is all he manages to gesture with a single, free hand. 

 

And with his other, he releases your cheek to comb his talons carefully through your hair. He tentatively draws a line from behind your ear to your jaw bone, past your chin, and down your neck to where your skin meets your shirt. You smile cheekily and sit up on his hip. Slowly, and deliberately, you peel your shirt back and reveal your chest. It’s a definite confidence booster watching Lox’s eyes widen to take in your half-naked form, with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows to dance on your skin. Even with pants on, you feel Lox’s hard member throb against your rear in anticipation. You tease back, grinding your hips against his length into where your cheeks divide.

 

(Are you sure you want to do this?)

 

His signs are barely legible. It’s frantic and sloppy with barely contained enthusiasm, because of course he’s nervous. You’re all he’s been able to think of since you gave him that platonic kiss on his cheek the year before. You’re the one he’s imagined being held in his arms at night.  _ You’re  _ the one he’s been taking his pleasure to -- guiltily stroking, to the best of his imagination, your form for comfort in the deep hours of the night.

 

And he’s been berating himself for the past year for seeming so indifferent before, when he should have been actively pursuing you like he’s wanted to. He wants you so, so badly as his chosen life mate, but really, he’s just been scared of scaring  _ you _ . 

 

“Of course I’m sure! Unless you’re not comfortable doing this.”

 

(I am, but--)

 

“Then no more talking. I want you. I want to feel you inside me  _ now. _ ”

 

And that was enough. Emboldened, Lox grabs your rear, testing the give of your flesh approvingly before running a single talon under your waistband. You laugh and raise yourself off his hips, with enough room to wiggle off your pants and undergarments. Lox eyes your body with a miserable wanting that only edges you on. You raise your brow, ignoring his pleading eyes to slide yourself lower between his legs. You finally get a chance to sate your curiosity and see what he’s been packing underneath. 

 

Bashfully, Lox opens his legs. Beneath the soft, downy feathers, he reveals his swollen cloaca, and emerging from the top is his bright, coiled cock for you. Of course pteriatrice anatomy is unlike that of a human’s. And though you’ve studied reproduction in other species, you’ve never seen it for yourself in person until now. His cock is long and curled like that of a corkscrew, but he keeps it wound tight and compact so that it becomes short and thicker. More manageable. The entire length of his cock is slick with arousal, likely having been coated with sexual fluids when it became unsheathed from the lips of his swollen cloaca. You wrap your hand around his length and give it a light squeeze, pleased to feel it twitch in response.

 

You look up at him with uncertainty. “Does it need to be uncoiled to feel good?”

 

(No,) he signs. (That’s only for when we mate with other pteriatrice for reproduction. I… like it better when it’s coiled tightly. Less fragile. More… feeling.)

 

You nod in relief and focus your attentions back to his cock. Again, you stroke his member experimentally, feeling it pulse against your fingers and admiring the texture as the divets in the coil rub against fingers. You lean forward to gently lick the tip, tasting the mildly acidic flavor of his arousal. A hint of sweetness that you don't mind at all. Even though his cock is wound tightly, it’s only compact in length, and the coil subsequently increases his overall girth. It’s far too much to fit into your mouth past the entrance, so instead you pump his length with one hand and swirl your tongue against the tip, thrilled to hear him pant to your ministrations. He’s holding back, knowing that there’s only so much you can fit in his mouth, but he's forced to use everything in his power to keep his hips from rocking forward. His legs twitch whenever your tongue brushes against the edges where one loop of his cock stacks against another. A sensitive area, to be sure.

 

Hearing his quiet, breathless voice in tandem to the swirls of your tongue only heightens your own arousal, and with your free hand you begin tracing the swollen lips of his wet cloaca. So warm and slick, dripping with anticipation. So swollen and inviting that you couldn’t help but slide a single finger inside to feel his strong muscles contract around your digit.

 

He yelps and you immediately retreat, letting everything go.

 

“Oh god, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

 

(Yes,) he signs, though still visibly a bit shaken.

 

“Fuck, I messed up.”

 

(No! Just sensitive. Not used to being touched there.)

 

“Fuck. I keep messing everything up!”

 

(It’s okay.)

 

“We can stop this.”

 

You feel your body being pulled up until you’re back on top of Lox’s chest. He pulls you into a hug, burying his beak into your hair and inhaling your scent deeply. He runs his beak gently through your follicles, strand by strand to smooth out your hair. You aren’t used to being preened, but his gentle scalp caress is soothing. He finally lets you go when you calm down. 

 

(It’s okay. Don’t worry. I am fine and you are fine.)

 

You kiss him again shyly and are delighted in the quiet moan he elicits. Lox lets his hands roam free, letting the tips of his talons tickle your back, down your spine until it reaches your sex. He’s cautious and unsure, because he never thought he’d ever be in this situation with you and if he’d known, he would have filed them down. 

 

You sense his apprehension and chuckle, gently guiding his hand across your hips and show him how to use the soft pads of his hand to stimulate you from the front. It takes him a few tries to get the right motion, and the moment he gets it, the sweet moan that slips from your lips is enough to startle him. Likewise, you work one finger, then two fingers, then three into your entrance, slowly increasing in girth to hopefully accommodate him.

 

“I think I’m ready,” you sigh. 

 

With that, you guide his thick member to your entrance, slowly, and aided by his arousal, he prods at your entrance. You stifle a moan,  _ it's too much _ , so he holds that position while your body takes time to adjust. He's sweet and caring and so afraid of hurting you, but you're patient, confident that you can take him with time. And he acquiesces, taking his time to rock in slowly until you envelop him completely.

 

It’s awkward, of course. He doesn’t quite get what feels good for you, and the timing is off, but it’s to be expected with a new lover. Despite this, you’ve never been so filled in your life and Lox, too, has never felt such a warm tightness around his cock. Warmth, and wetness, and it’s so delicious with how you rock your hips on top of him until your body gets used to his girth and it starts to feel alright. You squeeze around him teasingly and he teases back, only rocking into you with shallow thrusts that do nothing to help you mount your peak.

 

You laugh and smack his chest playfully. “Don’t be such a dick! Screw me properly!”

 

He raises a brow, accepting your challenge, before he changes his rhythm. Slowly, languidly, he withdraws his cock from your body - just until the tip barely teases your entrance before he slams back into you. Stars ignite in your vision and to Lox, the sound that rumbles through your throat is just  _ obscene _ . 

 

“L-lox!” you gasp. It’s motivating enough to do that again, drawing out his cock and spearing you again at your core, over and over until you feel your body tense with the mounting pleasure. And Lox slowly loses control as he’s so focused on the action, gaining speed and pleasure with each thrust. To hear his name uttered repeatedly by your voice like that, with how warmly your sex wraps around him, in the perfect mix of wet friction and pleasure is enough to bring him to the edge.

 

“Lo-o-oh--!”

 

You climax first, trying to call his name before your voice warbles into a long moan of pleasure. You contract around him, squeezing in forceful successions and coating him with your passion. The added pressure is enough to milk his cock until it pulses wildly, filling you to the brim with his thick ropes of his release. Lox moans with a final thrust, causing his cum to overflow from your entrance and dribble onto the the soft feathers of his tail. But that doesn’t matter. 

 

Nothing matters when he has such a lovely person, exhausted and glowing, collapsed onto his chest.

 

You both take a moment to catch your breath.

 

(... Thank you for the sex,) he signs awkwardly, not really knowing what sort of human etiquette is commonly displayed after intercourse. 

 

You smack him lightly in the chest and burst out laughing. “You’re so polite it's almost inappropriate, you know that?”

 

Embarrassed, Lox hides his face behind his hands, but you gently pull them away to reveal his large, expressive eyes that convey more than words can say. You pull yourself closer. “I love you,” you croon, and rest your head in the soft plumage of his neck. You're exhausted and still connected to him without wanting to separate just yet.

 

Lox beams. He nuzzles you back, so pleased with the mutual satisfaction and your warm body on top of his. 

 

He raises his arms to try to let you know that he (loves you too), but you’re too tired to look up. He reconsiders and instead, Lox cradles your small form in his arms and spreads his wings overhead to wrap both you and himself in a warm cocoon of feathers. He gently preens your messy hair, strand by strand, and listens to your breathing, aware as all tautness in your muscles fade away. 

 

It’s amazing, he muses, how quickly you begin to drift off again. It just isn’t in him to disturb you right now, especially when he hears your quiet breathing progressively slowing to soft, sleepy whimpers. He finds you absolutely adorable. He sighs contentedly, knowing that even though his voice will never be loud enough to tell you how much he cares, he’s sure that you already know. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dug through my old folders and found some... er, visualization aids. NSFW for obvious reasons.
> 
> [Dirty deeds](https://78.media.tumblr.com/40270e3234bcd3c7f4cf7a19c5fcb171/tumblr_pcyne0sOZ31xbae5zo3_1280.png).  
> [Coiled](https://78.media.tumblr.com/64daf93a650d12c7945f1cb960864193/tumblr_pcyne0sOZ31xbae5zo1_1280.png), [uncoiled](https://78.media.tumblr.com/487acaa87874efc067cb2c408678f1c4/tumblr_pcyne0sOZ31xbae5zo2_1280.png).
> 
> Scream at me on Tumblr:  
> https://schadenfiend.tumblr.com/ (18+, NSFW art and reblogs)

**Author's Note:**

> Scream at me on Tumblr.  
> https://schadenfiend.tumblr.com (18+, NSFW art and reblogs)


End file.
